Paranoia: The Omega and Moxley Tapes
by thievesfire
Summary: The brutal unsanctioned match at Full Gear between Kenny Omega and Jon Moxley was supposed to be the end of a bloody, brutal feud. Instead, its just the beginning of something more...
1. Chapter 1: Reflections

**(This new story was created at the request of a good friend of mine! We realised there isn't masses of AEW fanfiction about, so I thought I'd have a stab at creating some stories. This will be a new field of fanfiction for me so please be patient with me! I'm a massive Kenny Omega fan ((and a Jon Moxley fan!)) and this feud was brilliant. No one wanted it to end right? So let's carry it on...with a little more perhaps? There was some incredible tension between the two of them that I want to explore. So! I hope you enjoy Paranoia: The Omega and Moxley Tapes. I'd love to know your thoughts so if you like what you read, please give it a follow or leave a review, it's really appreciated!)**

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**Chapter 1:** Reflections

He couldn't sleep.

Bare skin clung to the sheet below, sticking as wounds seeped through dressings. Sweat beaded over his body and the pain throbbed uncontrollably. It didn't matter how he lay. He'd tried every position, but each movement triggered new hurt, even in places he was certain hadn't been bruised. It was almost like his blood had been replaced with acid, burning every muscle and limb. The ceiling above him was speckled with black spots as his vision pooled in and out of focus. The thick flesh around his right eye was puffy, swollen. His body was a fresh sacrifice even though the medics had done their work. If they hadn't, he may have still been on those boards, unawares and out of sorts.

The cuts would heal. The bruises would fade. His eye would deflate. His body would, within a handful of days, or maybe even a week, lose the intensity which bound up his nerves into one big, explosive cramp. His calves were taut even now, almost shaking from the knots. His shoulders were the worst though – every collision had added a brand-new purple blossom to the skin and a new rawness to the muscle beneath. He could almost hear the sounds of each impact – the snapping of the traps, the smack of their bodies against one another, the floor, the barricades, through table and through display. He could smell the blood on his fingers, feel the pulsating of the adrenaline. He could still hear the Full Gear crowd – baying for more screams of agony. They wanted more brutality, more broken glass, more cut flesh more, more, more. They'd been so willing to give it too – but it wasn't for the audience. They'd simply wanted to murder one another.

But most of all, what he couldn't shake and what really kept him awake, peeling himself from the sheets was the terrible sensation of how much he'd enjoyed it. He'd wanted to hurt the other man in that ring. Every single time he achieved a cry of pain from him, it had been euphoric. From the broken glass in his back, to throwing him over the side of that ring. Even plunging into barbed wire together had given him some strange satisfaction.

But he'd lost.

As they'd carried him from that ring, bells rung, Matt had told him. He'd whispered in his ear that it was over, that he didn't need to fight Moxley anymore. There was nothing left to fight about. Just to stop. To leave it alone. He was breaking their hearts. That's how he'd put it.

Was that truth more painful than the lacerations in his back?

The hotel room felt bizarrely small, almost like it was a containment unit rather than a plus place to stay. Only hours earlier he'd been roaming a massive venue, trying to hunt down a man who'd already scouted him out as the prey. He'd been a fool to challenge Moxley, a proud, stupid fool. But there had been no way around it. So many things had led. He was the best – the _best bout machine_, the very best wrestler in the world. He _knew_ that. Yet time after time, he was coming up short. Against Pac, against Jericho. He couldn't afford it. He couldn't let it happen again.

But it had.

His pride had brought him to worship at a bloody pulpit and the man smirking down at him had held a sceptre of barbed wire and nails. Moxley's domain had hurt. His body could take it. But could his pride?

Sleep wasn't going to cut it and, frustrated, he threw back the sheets. Out of habit, he usually slept naked, but, having been put to bed by the Bucks, he found himself in sweat pants. Grateful for the chill of the carpet against his toes, he heaved himself up and out of the sickbed. Upright didn't feel much better than laid down – upright brought a dizziness that made him stumble to the bathroom, the contents of his stomach quickly finding its way into the toilet bowl.

This was bullshit. He rested his head against the cold porcelain and imagined how Moxley would be laughing at him right now. He could picture it – the crazed juggernaut just as ripped up as he was, tongue out in mania, eyes wide and that snarled laughter puncturing his ears. He could hear it as he flushed the vomit away and sat back against the wall. Kenny held his head in his hands, his fingers knotted into blond and grey curls. Slowly, he forced himself to breathe and tried to ease the pressure on his back – he didn't need to stick to the wall after all. So…what happened now?

Did he just let this all go like the Bucks wanted him too?

The pain would fade but the scars would remain – his pride was blemished, his record down in the dirt and his reputation in worse tatters than his back. People expected so much of him – he could remember when it was announced that he'd been signed to AEW. Everyone believed he would be the very first champion but then he'd fallen at the first hurdle – Chris Fucking Jericho. The ultimate roadblock. That cocky bastard had somehow managed to fell him. To knock him down. Then there was Pac. Then Moxley. One after the other, foil after foil and he was sick and tired of it.

Moxley would be the last.

He had to make sure of it.

He couldn't go through that agony again – losing was not in his blood. The brutality? He was surprised at himself. But his wounded pride? That was a cut too deep.

Kenny sniffed.

Time to get off this floor. He braced one hand against the toilet, the other against the wall and heaved himself up. He winched at the ache. He wasn't sure what had done the most damage really – possibly those wooden boards in the ring. He was never, ever doing that ever again. He wasn't sure what had possessed him to clamber up those ropes – the phoenix splash was a dangerous move at the best of times. He'd been stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He took a couple of shaky steps forward toward the sink, hands gripped each side of the porcelain and he looked into the mirror above it.

Well didn't he look a fucking mess?

His face was battered, bloated and somewhere underneath all the puffiness, it looked like his eye had swallowed itself up and he just looked pitiful. That thick purple skin was nothing new – he'd had black eyes before. But then there was his nose, still squint from where Mox had broken it months before.

'_**Well Kenny**_,' he muttered and poked at his eye, '**_least there's nothing permanent. You'll be pretty again in no time._**'

For a few moments he just studied himself, introduced himself to his own face again. For someone who messed with his hair so often, he rarely stopped and actually looked at himself. He still looked good, really, despite it all. A few creases around the eyes as he was progressing through the 30s at rapid pace. He'd been told throughout the years that he was a good-looking guy and at one point, he'd been such a cocky bastard he believed them. He'd lean against those ropes and act like the cool guy, especially when he was the bad guy. Now he could rarely see past the curls that fell over his face. Rarely see through the red clouds of pride and wrath. But then, what saw, was what he liked best. His eyes…well. What you could see of them anyway.

He sighed and leaned back, still holding on for support and stretched out his spine. With a few nasty cracks, everything realigned and he actually felt a little better. He'd be back in the ring tomorrow – just work everything out in warming up. No problems. Sure, he was bruised. Sure, his wounds were seeping, sure he couldn't stand up without holding on for dear life. But he was sure that Moxley was just as bad. In fact, he was certain of it. He'd done a number on him – forcing him through broken glass had been a particular highlight. He'd deserved it. Arrogant bastard.

_This isn't you!_

Kenny turned on the tap, let the cold water run over his hands and slapped his own face. His skin instantly cried – whether in shock or pain he couldn't quite tell. Maybe he just needed to dunk his entire head into the sink – a cold shower would solve a lot of things. He'd always believed that. Or maybe he could find a nearby 24 gym and just work out the frustration. Maybe he could bench press it all away. Maybe he could find a punch bag and just work it all out. Maybe he could turn his headphones up to maximum and drown out the words. Everyone, _everyone_ had told him he'd changed. That he shouldn't face Moxley, not in that kind of match. That wasn't his speciality. That wasn't what he _did_. His busted muscles agreed. The deep lacerations on his back screamed the truth.

_The Kenny we know wouldn't do this_.

They'd not wanted to help him. Pulling out that barbed wire had gone against everything. They didn't want to see him get hurt. Or maybe that didn't want to see him lower himself to Moxley's level. He could remember their faces as they cut him out of the board, as he was thrown into the light. The entire match he knew that they'd been out back, hiding from the carnage and his bloody choice. He once again looked at himself. The mirror didn't give him any lies or pep talks, it didn't disagree with him, just showed him the results of a hard night in hell.

Maybe…maybe he had gone too far?

'**_You…you need to sort your shit out,_**' he pointed to his reflection. '_**Get back on track**,_' he took a deep breath and let it out slowly, '**_you – you're the best. You're the best bout machine. You need to bring this company to its knees. Forget Moxley_**.'

He nodded, solidifying the deal with himself.

Once the doc gave him the all clear for Wednesday, he'd be back at it. Moxley was in the past now. No doubt sometime in the future, their paths would cross again, but until that time, he was putting the sadistic bastard out of sight and out of mind. Kenny moved his jaw slowly – it ached a little from where that chain had been forced into it, straining his mouth open too wide. He could still taste the metal on his tongue. Could still feel the strain that Mox put on it, like he was trying to rip his head in two. Fuck – he'd thought about him already.

This was going to be far more difficult than he thought.


	2. Chapter 2: Wash the Pain Away

**((I just wanted to give a big thank you to everyone who has read the first chapter of this new story so far! I'll be updating this story as frequently as possible as I have a long form story in mind and I can't wait to tell it! I hope everyone enjoyed the introduction to Kenny, this chapter features fan favourite wrestlers the Young Bucks. As always, if you liked this chapter, please give it a follow or let me know your thoughts in the comments! Thank you again and I hope you like this new chapter!))**

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**Chapter 2:** Wash the Pain Away

Kenny never found his way back to the bed. Instead, he spent the rest of the night, sat in the small bucket chair in the corner of the hotel room, chewing his nails, barely blinking. He'd managed to set up his tablet in front of him, leaning against his backpack and on top of his suitcase. The screen was the only light and it stung his eyes, but it was necessary. He was studying. He'd managed to get up his match and was now on it's fifth viewing. He relived every bump, every fist, every punishment over and over and no matter how many times he let it all play out before him, it all came to the same, miserable conclusion.

He could have won.

If he'd not gone for that fucking splash. It had been his own undoing. What had he been thinking? Moxley had been there, a sweet offering to the wrestling gods, ready for gutting and instead of plunging in that knife, he'd fulfilled his own ego for one last chance to inflict some pain. But of course, it hadn't worked out that way.

His thumb nail had been nibbled down to a stub and he'd started work on the skin surrounding it. Somewhere beyond the blinds, the sun was rising over Baltimore; a new day with new opportunities, a chance to start over. But Kenny wasn't so sure about leaving that blacked out room anymore. Maybe he could just stay there a bit longer and dwell. Maybe he could set up his games and just shut himself off – give it a couple of days and there would probably be a knock at the door, demanding to know what the smell was but that would be it. The Bucks would forget – they had too much going on to worry about him. Cody too. All of them. In fact, who would really miss Kenny Omega?

The fact that his landing on mousetraps was interrupted by a call indicated that someone, at the very least was thinking about him.

He squinted closer to see who it was – Nick.

He could just leave it. He didn't want to be seen like this – facetime was never kind to him.

Scrunched up in that chair he just let it ring. Eventually Nick would get the message and leave him be. Sure enough, the call rang out and there was painful pause before the video resumed and Kenny watched dozens of traps snap shut on his spine and shoulders. Again; his own stupid fault. Everything he'd brought into that fight he'd ended up suffering the ass end of. Why he'd thought any of it was a good idea was beyond him – he'd gone all mad scientist in his creations, even personally constructing the mousetrap board. The Walmart woman must have thought that he'd had a severe rodent problem. Nope; _just one big rat_. Even heading into the match he'd had burned fingers from being overzealous with hot glue.

Speaking of fingers – he looked down at them now, a little crooked in places, mostly missing patches of skin from his nibbling. But, as he flexed them, he knew that at least they worked. All of his pieces, in fact, seemed to be in ok-order. Just patchy and glitchy and no doubt more than a little achy when he left the chair. As he glanced up again to that video, he was overcome with how cartoony it all was. The violence and the pain were all very real (he could certainly attest to that as he was becoming increasingly convinced that his coccyx was actually broken – he shifted his position in the seat and nothing but cruel, blistering pain came from it – fuck), but there was something about it all. It felt like he was watching Wile E. Coyote go through his own traps trying to catch that blasted roadrunner. The mousetraps, the barbed wire, the broom…all of it. But that had been everything he'd brought to the table – Mox had just been about trying to snap him in half.

Had he, when it come down to it, actually taken this whole thing seriously? Had he approached it with the intent of winning, or just making a spectacle out of beating up a man – one who'd done what many would have on his debut; gone straight for the golden boy to assert his dominance. Moxley was a brutal, pig-headed fuck. There was no way round that. Kenny hated him. But had the hate clouded his judgement? The realisation of it all caused his mouth to hang open, his eyes to glaze over and his mind to drift to how the match could have gone if he'd gone in ready to kill, rather than condemn.

But he wasn't allowed to ponder long.

Shuffles in the hallway brought footsteps to his door and a sudden barrage of knocks that snapped him out of his stupor.

'**Kenny**_**?**_' knock-knock-knock, '**Hey Kenny you awake man?**'

Nick. By the sound of lowered mutters, it seemed like Matt was with him.

Maybe if he was quiet then they'd presume he was asleep and just leave him alone.

There was a rustle and a sudden click and without warning the door opened. Sharp light poured in from the hallway, straight onto Kenny's curled up form. He hissed and tried to cover his head under his arm for protection, but those arms couldn't raise and he was left clawing at the intruding brightness. What a sight he must have been.

To their credit, they didn't laugh at him.

The Bucks stood in that doorway, taking in the pitiful sight. As he opened his eye a little, he could make out Matt on the left, hand on the door frame, Nick on the right, already halfway through and coming closer. He had a heavy limp – of course, Santana and Ortiz had done a number on him. Kenny had almost forgotten, no, he _had_ forgotten, that the Bucks had been through hell too. Proud and Powerful had beaten the Bucks. His was not the only pride wounded. But it almost seemed like they'd forgotten their loss as Nick came to a stop in front of Kenny.

'**Kenny…you look like shit**_,'_ he muttered. He reached out and moved Kenny's head to the side to get a better look at that black eye. His face was pressed into concern and he glanced over his shoulder to his older brother, '**Maybe we should take him back to the hospital**,'

'**I'm fine,**' Kenny swatted the hand away irritably.

'**Don't be a dick Kenny**,' Matt had entered the room now and flicked the light on. He folded his arms and stared down at him. '**You brought this on yourself. Don't take it out on us**.'

Matt too, looked worse for wear. He was leaning forward, his back clearly giving him trouble. They'd both come out of their own personal war injured. Theirs were battle injuries – his? His were now being thoroughly inspected by Nick, both hands stretched out to look him over. He searched face, neck, chest, torso, shoulders and arms, making sure dressings were still in place. He'd always been the gentler of the two, Matt had more bite. But he knew the brothers, they were upset with him – angry that he'd made them get involved. Pissed off that he'd made them watch as he suffered. Nick would never say it, but it was clearly there, all on the end of Matt's tongue. His brow was knitted in a set frown.

'**At the very least you need these dressings changed**,' Nick tried to crouch down, but his knee gave out and he found himself sat unceremoniously on the floor, his face pinched in pain. But he didn't say a word. He stretched out that leg beside him and never took his eyes off Kenny. '**We can do that if you don't want to go back – we'll get one of the medics in**.'

Kenny shook his head, annoyance stapled all over his face, '**I don't need a medic. I'm fine dammit.**'

'**Like hell you are.**' Matt snapped and moved closer. It occurred to Kenny that the reason Matt's arms were crossed so tightly was possibly to stop him belting him one. '**What the hell happened last night Kenny? We knew going into this that Mox was messing with your head, but the shit you pulled…making us help you with that stupid barbed wire…do you know what it's like? Cutting someone you care about out of something like that. For what? You to mope in your room because you lost? What did you expect to happen? You'd walk out of it the old Kenny again? Fuck…**' he finally released his arms and rubbed his forehead in frustration, '**I miss the old Kenny…**'

Well that stung.

'**I'm still Kenny**,' he objected and started to unfold himself from the chair. Nick's landing had knocked his tablet to the floor, the image frozen on him taking another hideous bump. Kenny eased himself forward a little to peer once again at it, but Nick moved his hand and flipped the tablet over.

'**Enough, man. It's over.' **He insisted.

'**You – you just don't get it do you?**' Kenny frowned, gesturing at the Bucks, hands splayed as he didn't know what to do with them. '**Mox attacked **_**me**_**. He came after **_**me**_**. He began all of this. What am I supposed to do in the shards of a glass table? What am I supposed to do with a broken nose? Just ignore him? Just say '**_**Hey Mox, let's work this out in a good ol' fashion wrestling match, there's clearly been a miscommunication?'**_**. Bullshit. He wanted a fight. So, I gave him one. He couldn't wrestle me – he's an animal. So, I lowered myself to a level he'd understand. You have no idea how much I wanted to hurt him – he's put me through Hell. So, I did hurt him. I hurt him fucking bad and I would have thought that you two, as my **_**friends**_** would have tried to understand that. Maybe I was wrong.**'

Matt made to say something, but Nick held up a hand to him.

'**Kenny, we **_**do**_** understand. Trust us, we do. But you've scared us over the past few weeks. That landing on the boards last night? We thought for a minute we'd lost you to this ridiculous campaign. We thought you were **_**dead**_**. It might only have been for a few seconds but they lasted a lifetime until you came to. Maybe one day you'll do something stupid and the great Kenny Omega will lose his life to the spot to end all spots…but not in a trash match against a lunatic who wanted to bring out the worst in you. Because he managed it. You lost **_**because**_** you stooped to his level. You obsessed over him. You became…**_**this**_**,' **he reached out that same hand and pointed at Kenny's crumpled form. '**Closed off from us and intent only on fighting him. You're just a name on his list, Kenny. That's it. Now he's done, now he thinks he's broken you; he'll move on to his next target.**'

The mere idea that he'd just been the first in a long line of potential victims was insulting, humiliating. He'd always thought he'd be more of a final girl than the inevitable kill of the '_the let's split up and go smoke pot whilst having sex_' character. Not the first. Surely, he should have been the top of the mountain? Shouldn't Moxley have torn through countless others before trying to topple him? But no, instead he'd knocked him straight off his perch – he could see it now, relive each time over and over. Every time Mox had bested him, he'd been thrown down; down from a stack of gambling chips, down through a table, down from the top rope (even though it had been by his own hand).

Seemingly noticing his conflict, Nick edged closer and grasped Kenny's hand. '**You're great Kenny, the best. But you're an egotistical bastard who can't let go. But this, time…this time for the sake of all of us. Just forget Moxley. It's over. Start again, beat everyone. Show him who you are – because who you are, isn't what he beat last night**.'

'**You're being too nice to him.**' Matt grumbled, but, reluctantly, he crouched down next to the chair with his brother. '**But Kenny, he's right. Come on. Let us get your dressings changed, get you outside. Get you some air. We'll go to TGIs, whatever you want. There are arcades in Baltimore, we've got all day until we need to fly out. Let's have some time together. Just us, just the Elite. Like the old days. Let's begin the journey back to the Old Kenny, together, Ok?**'

The Bucks had been there for him, through everything. Even when they'd come into conflict all those months, years ago. Bullet Club had brought them together, but being elite had made them a family. Even as he sat there looking down at them, even as their words washed over him, he could still feel that fucking shadow looming. He could try and push him out, but Mox would always be there, there right in the back of his mind. He wanted to shove it aside, desperately. He wanted to do exactly as they were suggesting, climb a mountain, throw it all away and _just let it go_. But he knew, he was sure, that that smirk, would always be there, burned into his memory. There was no avoiding Moxley. He would be there at Dynamite in Nashville – even if he wasn't cleared. He'd be there. Like seeing an ex after a break up, it would be fucking difficult not to confront him, not to say something. But the eyes of the Bucks were breaking him down.

'**I can't forget what he did, but,**' Kenny squeezed Nick's hand, '**a day together sounds good.**'

Seemingly taking that as a victory, Matt returned to a standing position, scooped a hand under Nick's arm and hauled him up before, between them, they heaved Kenny out of the chair. They clung to one another, each groaning in pain.

'**God when did we get so **_**old**_**…**' Matt grumbled, rubbing his lower back.

'**We didn't,**' Nick said through gritted teeth and massaged his knee, '**we just fucking love this business.**'

'**Fucking love this business man…**'

'**Love it…**'

'**So much…**'

Matt patted Kenny's shoulder, accidentally hitting a dressing and sending a slicing pain through his arm. The high-pitched yelp of pain would have been funny if they weren't all so worn out. Together, the Bucks limped round the room to grab clothes for Kenny as he shuffled into the bathroom to shower. They heard the whimpers and hisses as he tried to clean himself down. They discovered his phone tangled in the bed sheets, along with their dozens of missed calls. But as Nick started to pack Kenny's backpack, the phone vibrated. It was impossible not to notice.

Silently, he turned it to show Matt.

It was an unknown number – but it looked like in the past few hours, it had called a total of three times, never long enough for anyone to really pick up, just for a couple of seconds. Even now, as Nick went to answer, whoever it was hung up. Odd. But with a shrug, they put the phone into the backpack and zipped it up, settling down to wait for Kenny to finish in the shower.

In said shower, Kenny's hands were planted against the wall as he leaned forward, his head under the stream of hot water. He let it run through his hair, over his aching back, along every inch of his body. He felt unclean. Moxley's hands had been all over him and now he just wanted to wash him away. He was sure he could smell the bastard on his skin. He was sure some of the blood that had dried onto his arms belonged to Mox. He grabbed a sponge from its hook and started to rub himself down. But there were areas that sponge couldn't cleanse. There was blood under his fingernails, in the creases of his skin, on his back where he couldn't reach. No matter how hard he scrubbed, Mox would be there.

When he finally stepped out, red and raw from scratching at himself, he caught sight of his reflection once more in the mirror. He looked like a crazed lunatic. Kenny let out a shaky breath. The Bucks were right. It was time to find the Old Kenny again. He opened the bathroom door and returned to the bedroom, toweling his hair.

'**Kenny what the fuck man?'**

'**Kenny put on some shorts!'**

'**Oh god!'**

'**Why are you naked!'**

'**My eyes!'**

Well, that was a good first step.


	3. Chapter 3: The Games We Play

**(Hi everyone! Thanks for sticking with me so far :) here's chapter 3, I hope that you enjoy it! Thank you to everyone who's shown support or read Kenny's story so far. I'm going to be sticking with the AEW timeline as close as possible, so if you're a big fan and spot me getting something wrong, please let me know! As always, if you have enjoyed this chapter, give the story a follow or leave a comment. Thank you!)**

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Chapter 3: The Games We Play

Wrestlers had to be many things. They had to be dedicated, they had to be performers, they had to be driven, passionate and most of all…they had to be exceptionally good at blending in if they ever wanted to get anything done beyond the ring. Kenny, to his credit, had become very good at doing so. It was amazing what the addition of a cap could do. Never underestimate the power of a snapback. His hair was of a strange length where he couldn't quite stuff it all under a hat, but he was good at keeping his head down if he wanted. A majority of places he visited; he could walk freely without fear of being bothered too much. But the night after a pay-per-view was a completely different beast.

The Bucks too, were keeping a low profile. Usually, they didn't mind the attention, but right now? Today? The decision had been made. This was their time. It was only as they were squashing into the back of a taxi, that Kenny realised it had been a long while since they'd actually done something like this for fun. Normally they were being shipped too and from meetings, interviews, to matches, to hotels. Now that they were EVPs for AEW…free time and leisure was something that had to be planned. Their schedules were smaller, but their responsibilities had tripled. If he wanted to have a day off, he had to meticulously plan to make sure that everything was done.

And planning anything that wasn't a match…well it wasn't Kenny's strong suit. Especially if budgeting was involved. He doubted the Bucks had forgiven him yet for the shambles of Fyter Fest's production. His ideas had been big, his intentions…mostly pure. But as it turned out, he needed to watch more documentaries and actually learn from other people's mistakes.

He leaned his head against the window, and breathed onto the glass, fogging it up before drawing a face. He'd never particularly been noted for his artistic skills, though he did like doddle. He gave the face a big smudge round its eye, drew a lop-sided crown on top of its curly hair and a wide speech bubble. _Bang!_ Nick, who was tucked under his left elbow and somehow simultaneously being half sat on by his brother, craned his head round to look.

He chuckled, '**Thinking of toppling the champ, or have a Burger King craving?**'

Kenny tried to turn in his cramped position to look at his friend a little better, but found it near impossible. His shoulders were too broad and too bruised, too knotted, too tight. He needed out of this cab soon, otherwise they'd have to physically unfold him when they got to _Planetary Wharf_. The arcade was fresh, new and just awaiting discovery. He'd heard about it through a Xavier Woods of all people – a sneaky text that he had no doubt would eventually lead to them abusing one another and threatening their defeat. He liked Xavier, had even once agreed to appear on _UpUpDownDown. _But of course, WWE blocked the move. It seemed unless wrestlers were under contract with them, it didn't matter who they were.

Shame. They could have had some real magic.

'**Well, someone has to topple Jericho eventually.**'

'**And you think it'll be you?**'

Kenny shrugged, '**Could be?**'

Now that Cody had failed in his chance, after the humiliation and betrayal at the hands of MJF, it looked like the road had been cleared. But if Cody couldn't do it, and Kenny had failed all those months ago…did he have what it took? Maybe he was losing his touch. Much like this day out with the Bucks, he knew he had to take those all-important steps back to the old Kenny Omega. The man who won matches. The man who had the _best_ matches. Things had all been going wrong…Jericho he could have put down to a bad night. But losing to Pac as well? Pac had been the beginning of this spiral…Moxley had just been the one to shove lemon juice in the wounds. Maybe if he went back to where it all began…faced Pac again, he could get back on track. Maybe then, he could take down Mox. Go back through his opponents, all those that had beaten him and knock them down one by one…

'**I just can't wait for someone to knock that smug smirk off Jericho's face.**' Matt's grumpy voice came from the opposite end of the taxi. '**Can't believe MJF had the fucking nerve to pull what he did last night…**'

'**We've always known he was a time bomb,**' Nick reasoned.

'**Yeah…just another thing Cody never listens to us on, his taste in proteges…**'

'**Probably fancies himself a Jedi Master, certain he can tame a young wildling in the ways of the force.**' Kenny muttered with a sigh. He started to add feathers into his window drawing's hair. '**We there yet Mister?**'

The driver grunted something in response.

'**Cool, and how far is that?**'

They turned off the road and came to a sharp, unpleasant halt that saw Kenny's stomach nearly leap out of his throat.

'**$15,**'

_Expensive for a five-minute drive_, Kenny thought to himself, but they were so glad to be getting out of that car that none of them complained. Nick, in particular was pleased to no longer be squashed in the middle and when he clambered out, it was done with such a sigh of relief that Kenny had to wonder if the younger Buck had been struggling to breathe.

'**Well, I guess this is it,**' Kenny glanced up at the building before them. It didn't look to be anything exceptional, at least from the outside, but judging by the flurry of people (mostly teenagers) heading in and out in droves, it was popular. The sign stretched out above the door had clearly nicked the _Star Wars_ font, but the cheapness of it kind of stirred a little bit of happiness inside Kenny's heart – it reminded him of all the arcades he used to frequent as a kid. They had knock off names like _GhostBursters_ and _PocMan's Paradise_. He felt safe in arcades. Grateful to Matt for the suggestion, he stuffed a hand into his pocket to pay for the taxi, but discovered that his friend had already done so and now came to stand beside the two of them, a characteristic frown bent into his forehead.

'**Doesn't look much,**'

'**The best ones never do,**' Kenny shrugged and, adjusting his cap a little lower, he followed a group of kids (one of whom was wearing a _Jurassic Express _shirt, incurring a small smile) through the painted red doors – and instantly felt like he'd died and fallen head first into the gaming paradise he'd always hoped existed. Maybe he _had_ met his end on those boards the night before. Maybe this was what awaited him beyond the pixelated gates. It was one room, two levels. As far as the eye could see, were arcade machines. Classics, new breeds, there were things Kenny had never even seen before and without even a backward glance at the Bucks, he was off, his backpack slipping down one shoulder as he went sprinting up and down the aisles. He couldn't take it all in, he felt like a little kid at Christmas, full of glee. It didn't take long though for the adrenaline to wear off and for his body to seize up. A sudden cramp in his left leg near sent him crashing into an old _Ghosts & Goblins _cabinet. He managed to throw out his hands to stop himself, but they landed on a kid's shoulders and the poor teen was sent tumbling down with him.

'**Ouch,**' Kenny's face was smudged on the black bottom of the cabinet, somewhere underneath him, was an angry adolescent.

'**Get the fuck off me perv!**'

'**What the hell is going on here?**'

'**I fell! I'm sorry!**' Kenny tried to apologetically mush out as he removed his face from the cabinet.

But as a crowd formed and the kid kicked his way out from underneath Kenny, he could have sworn he heard the Bucks trying to come to his rescue. Or maybe they were still trying to find him. Kenny rubbed his head, and turned his body to sit on the floor and lean against the game. He sniffed, his hat had tumbled off but no one was particularly interested in who he was, just what had happened. The teen had long gone, but there was a small circle of adults who had been drawn to the ruckus.

'**Hey hey, nothing to see here folks.**' Matt suddenly appeared, arms held high.

'**He attacked a child!**'

'**Wouldn't be the first time,**'

'**Excuse me?**'

'**Nothing, nothing. Please excuse my friend. He's clumsy as all hell. What happened was an accident I assure you.**'

Matt would have made a great cop. He ushered the collection of frowns away with a concerned look over his shoulder and a jolt of his head which whispered _don't make a scene_.

_Didn't fall on purpose_ Kenny mentally growled at his friend's back. A quick glance around – where had his cap gone? Must have rolled off when he'd fallen. He braced his hands against the floor to push himself up, but his shoulders refused and he was left sat there, feeling utterly useless and cursing his stupidity the night before. Maybe he could use the cabinet to get up to his feet? Being this stiff and ungainly was claustrophobic. He usually had such freedom of movement. But with gritted teeth, he reached up one hand to grab the cabinet, pressed the other against the floor and _heaved_. Splitting the pressure did the trick and somehow he found himself on his feet again, but a little out of breath, out of sorts and really, really in need of a break. He leaned on the control panel, watched the little graphics flash and wondered if he had a quarter at the bottom of one of his pockets. Though…he really should look for his hat.

'**Dropped something?**'

Misplaced relief washed over him, as he pushed himself up, turned, a small smile on his face to find his cap in the hands of someone he really didn't want to see.

Jon Moxley leaned against the wall with the kind of grotesque confidence you'd find in a backstreet brawler. He looked worse for wear, exhausted, but there was that defiant blackness in his pitted eyes. He wore a smirk which cut straight through Kenny's senses. There was something about him that made the worst in you leap to the surface and Kenny's smile dropped off the face of the earth, a thick set glare jumping to his face, one fist clenched, his body taut, ready to pounce.

'**You've got nerve Mox,**' he growled.

Moxley seemed delighted with the snarled response and pushed himself off the wall, coming closer, closer, close enough that Kenny could have socked him to the next row of cabinets. He had that blue snap-back in one bandaged hand. It was half held out, as if offered, but Kenny had the good sense to know that if he even tried to grab it, it would be wrenched away once more, like a play ground bully looking to get a rise out of his favourite victim.

'**And you've got balls,**' Mox hissed. He was too close now, leaning in to speak directly into Kenny's ear. He could feel the wire like fuzz of Moxley's beard scrapping the side of his face and he couldn't move. If he did, he would have attacked. It felt like he was drowning under the pressure of his enforced self-control. He couldn't breathe. '**You did what no one else even dared to do. You came and played in my yard.**' Mox leaned back a little and stuffed the cap into Kenny's hand. '**And you'll be back. Because I _know_ you Omega. You've had a taste and now you'll want more.**'

'**Get the fuck away from me,**' Kenny shoved him back, '**you wanna go Mox? Let's fucking go,**'

Moxley's smirk cut even further into his cheek, half a Glasgow smile. He rolled his shoulders – a creature constantly in motion. An animal, some horrific rabid dog that needed to be put down. If he started foaming at the mouth it wouldn't look out of place.

'**You wanna play?**' he snarled. A sudden jolt and they were forehead to forehead.

He was so close; his breath was hot against Kenny's skin. He could have bitten him, torn a chunk out of that smug smile. Ripped one of those cut lips right off his face. Even now he didn't stop moving. It was fucking infuriating. Kenny reached out and grabbed the edge of Mox's cut off jacket, cementing them together.

Mox didn't resist, relishing the rage, '**Then let's play,**'

'**Hey! No fucking break it up**,'

Hands suddenly appeared against Kenny's chest, heaving him back, but not before Mox's hand snapped out and grabbed a fist full of hair, that tongue flashing out, catching Kenny's cheek.

With a bestial roar, Kenny hurled himself forward, fist connecting with Mox's jaw. He felt hands grip his arm, trying to pull him away. But Mox spat, a glob of spit that hit Kenny right below the the eye.

More and more hands appeared, breaking them up, dragging them away from one another despite their calls to be let go. Kenny's knuckles were raw and he fought against the pain, fought against the stiffness to struggle and buck against the secure arms. He was deaf to Matt, deaf to Nick. All he could hear was the blood pounding in his ears, the red mist had descended and Mox was all he could see. He could feel the trail on his cheek where he'd been licked. It was hot as a burn and the embarrassment and rage pushed him forward. Another swing of his fist, aiming straight for Mox's jaw – but he missed, his blow smacking straight into Nick.

The world around him shattered back into existence.

There were people around him – kids staring, Nick on the floor, holding his cheek, Matt by his side, his glare intensifying. Mox was being dragged back, staff and security hauling him off. Kenny stood there, unmoving, only his hand raising to wipe the spit from his face. He felt like he'd been dunked under water and when he finally could look at his friends, he stumbled over the apology, ashamed.

'**Nick I -,**'

'**Don't,**' Nick shook his head, one slow, solitary movement. He held his jaw, stretching it.

'**No I -,**'

'**Kenny. We're going.**' Matt snapped and pulled his brother to his feet. '**You can stay, I don't care. You'd better sort your shit out by Wednesday. I mean it. Or we're going to start having problems. Real problems. Mox is a pile of shit, but you need to be bigger and walk away. If you see him again you _walk away_ Kenny. You hear me? You're becoming a danger to people around you and that's not right.**'

Kenny's hat had fallen in the chaos, down on the floor near Nick. The Buck picked it up, dusted it off and handed it up.

'**We care about you man. You know that, don't you?**'

Slowly, Kenny took the cap. He held it in both hands and sighed, '**Yeah…yeah I know. I'm sorry.**'

'**We'll see you later Kenny,**' Matt turned away, leading a slightly reluctant Nick with him. '**Call us when you get your head straight.**'

Within minutes, he'd screwed up. Kenny watched them go, rolling his hat in his hands. He let out a slow, shaky breath. Things had to change. He raised a hand and touched where Mox had dared to lick him. It felt like a scar, jagged and permanent. Something he would never, could never forget. It made him want to tear him limb from limb. It disturbed him, how easy it was to imagine hurting Mox. But what was even worse, was how much he enjoyed the tension, the bite. Savouring the seconds they had to beat the crap out of one another. With one last frustrated hiss, he thumped the nearest cabinet and headed for the exit.


	4. Chapter 4: Scorching The Earth

**(We've made it to over 100 views already! Thank you everyone for reading. I hope you enjoy this newest chapter! I'd love to know what you think :) )**

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Chapter 4: Scorching The Earth

Nashville was one of those cities that every wrestler had been to at least once in their careers. Wrestling had deep roots in the southern states and many of the greats had worked their way through the local promotions before they were eventually (mostly) bought out by the WWE. Kenny had been there a couple of times before; it wasn't a place he knew well and flying there alone didn't help.

The Bucks had taken an earlier flight, leaving the same afternoon they'd walked away from him. He was used to travelling by himself, but there, in that business class seat, the world felt very empty around him. It was Tuesday morning and the flight from Baltimore to Nashville would only take a couple of hours. His seat was comfortable, he could just sit and snooze, or he could perhaps catch up on some launch videos, but instead, his headphones were turned up to the max and he found himself staring out the window.

The hours leading up to boarding the plane had been full of anger. Anger that he'd allowed himself to fly off the handle, anger that Mox had goaded him so easily. But most of all, it pissed him off that Moxley had been there – in that arcade. Arcades were safe places outside the wrestling world. Somewhere he could close off from the weight of feud and fight. They were fantasy lands he could disappear into, places where he was someone else and something more than Kenny Omega the wrestler. But that pocket universe had been disrupted by one, singular question _how had Moxley known where he'd be?_

The logical answer was that he didn't. It was chance. It was a matter of inconvenient coincidence. There was nothing to suggest that Moxley had followed them there – he, seemingly, had been there before they were. It would have been ridiculously presumptuous to suggest that Mox had even been there to catch out Kenny. He could have, in theory, just been there for the same reason that he and the Bucks had gone there – to wind down. But he couldn't imagine Jon Moxley, the purveyor of violence playing arcade games. He couldn't imagine him anywhere clean for that matter. The image of Jon Moxley conjured up backstreet bars and alleyways, chain link fences and prison bars. He belonged to the darkest parts of society, where all the scumbags grew out of the trash. Not somewhere like _Planetary Wharf_ – which Kenny was apparently now banned from. He'd been stopped by security as he left and slapped with the penalty for inciting violence. Apparently, he was lucky they didn't call the cops.

But even now, having reached the sensible conclusion that it had all come down to poor luck, Kenny couldn't shake the feeling that Mox had, somehow, known that they would be walking through those doors. He half expected to blink right there and then, and see Jon Moxley smirking at him from the plane wing, licking the window. He could imagine it. See him, wrapped in barbed wire, ready to punch through the plane window and pull him out, flinging him into the unforgiving atmosphere to tumble down even further than he had before. Kenny closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair.

_Call us when you get your head straight_.

_Enough man, it's over_.

_I miss the old Kenny_.

He let out a slow breath that it felt like he'd been holding on to too long. '**Yeah…me too…me too.**'

Who was the old Kenny? Really? He was a confident, carefree goofball. A man who had fun when he fought, even against the toughest opponents, he went in with a smile on face and the intention of putting on the best goddamn show anyone had ever seen. Against Moxley, it had almost been like the audience had melted away and it had just been the two of them, determined to tear each other apart, heading toward inevitable destruction. If they did it all over again…would the outcome be any different? What if…what if it were a wrestling match. What if, they fell back into war inside the ropes, in Kenny's kingdom.

He had nothing that Mox wanted to entice him back to the fight. But it seemed, that Moxley was more than ready to take it to the next level. He didn't know where Jon Moxley's hate for him stemmed from, maybe it was nothing more than a primal need to prove dominance. But it had incited the alpha spirit, and no matter how much he wanted to, Kenny knew, that he couldn't just let go. There was more to the fight. There were other chapters to be written. He didn't want to lose the Bucks, he didn't want to lose any of his friends, but if he didn't step up, if he didn't at least try…he'd lose a piece of himself to Mox that he would never get back again.

It felt like he hadn't slept in days, and when he finally dozed off, he was awoken seconds later by the gentle tap of one of the stewards on his shoulder. The terminal felt empty without friendly faces to greet him. Although there were a couple of fans who came up and said hi, he just didn't have the heart to stand and chat like he usually would. He tried to smile for a picture, but it felt false. Even a tender hug from one young lad who told him he was his inspiration made little difference to his mood.

The walk to the taxi ranks felt like miles, but as he started by one of the many shops that lined the walkway, pulling his luggage behind him, he came to a stop. There – right there. A poster for Dynamite. His face was featured predominantly, his characteristic, cocky smile centre stage. But even there, it didn't quite reach his eyes.

_We fucking love this business_.

He could almost hear Nick now over the music he was deafening himself with. Yes. He loved this business. He'd dedicated his entire life to the business. He'd pushed away potential romantic relationships because he didn't have time. He'd sacrificed close relationships with his family. He'd let wrestling take over every waking moment because he _did love the fucking business_. Kenny cocked his head and looked at that poster again, the bright colours, the faces of his friends flashing up one by one until Jon Moxley's rough face appeared. The temptation to deface it was huge. But instead, Kenny frowned a little, moved closer and really studied Jon's face. The other man's hands were pressed together, one hand caged around a closed fist. His eyes were small, built into a glare, but they were alight – blazing like a thousand fires, hot, hellish. His smirk relayed teeth and tongue. That same tongue that had left its mark in the arcade.

Kenny had been licked before.

Many times, in fact.

But the way Moxley had done it felt predatory, like he was seeking a taste of the blood he'd spilled at Full Gear. It had felt…odd. It had roused a bizarre jolt of disgusted excitement, like it had given him the spike of adrenaline he wanted to carry on the fight. He definitely hadn't liked it. But…he couldn't deny that it had given him a strange feeling, like the bottom of his stomach had fallen out. Like…

Well.

He couldn't really, properly compare it to anything else and it made him want to recoil. It had been a strange sense, of desire. Like he wanted him to do it – but surely it was because he wanted incite to riot. Nothing else. He hated the man who smirked at him from that picture. _Hated_ him. He hated that curled lip. He hated those burning eyes. He wanted little more than to cause him supreme, absolute pain. He wanted to _beat _him. To show him that he wasn't one to lie down. Moxley had only won because of Kenny's mistake.

That was it. Kenny could beat him at anything. He could and he would. He needed to stamp out this confusion. He needed to defeat Moxley once and for all. Get it all out of his system. When he got to the Nashville Municipal Auditorium, he'd check in with the medics, get himself cleared and make sure that he was the first in the ring to re-challenge Moxley. This time, he'd get him.

Another cock of the head as the screen flickered and changed back to Kenny's face, mottling the two of them together for a brief second. Kenny wrinkled his nose and turned away, back toward the taxi rank. He had work to do.

* * *

Perched on the the metal counter, Kenny was stripped to the waist and staring into medic was sympathetic, he could tell, but as he looked him over and shone a torch into his eyes, asking questions, Kenny could feel his soul slipping away. The look in the other mans eyes said everything. He could hear his own mouth giving answers, but it didn't feel like the words were coming from him at all. Eventually, after he was told he could put his t-shirt back on, the news came that he'd been dreading.

'**Take a week off, heal up**.'

He couldn't hide the disappointment, the deflation. But there was one small spark of hope – one small whisper.

'**How's Moxley?**'

The medic looked uncomfortable. '**Pretty banged up, but he's cleared…**'

Kenny had to swallow the tumour that suddenly lodged in his throat. '**I see…**'

Nakazawa, who'd insisted on accompanying him to the medic's office, hung his head. He knew. He knew the crippling cold that had just run through Kenny's entire body. Kenny, for a second had to pause. His eye was a little better now, he could see out of it a little. The thick, purplish-black flesh was an ugly reminder. The stinging sensation in the shower was like having a rake scrapped over his skin. He was finding new cuts every time he stepped under the water. But nothing stung as much as this.

Sure, he could disobey, he could storm down to that ring and demand a rematch, demand Moxley come out and face him. But he knew, he knew that if he even tried, not only would security stop him, but he'd face more of those looks from his friends. Michael wouldn't let him. Michael would beg him to reconsider. The Bucks would tell him he was a stubborn idiot. They'd shake their heads and they'd hold him back and he'd waste their energy.

'**Let's go,**_'_

Nakazawa wordlessly followed him out the door and when it closed behind them, he took a hold of Kenny's forearm and looked him straight in the eyes.

'**I'll fight him. For you Kenny,**_' _

'**Michael, that's a terrible –** '

But his friend was gone. Kenny's eyes widened and he started after him. He had to stop him. Michael Nakazawa was many things, a great comedy wrestler was one of them. But he didn't have the stamina or the strength to take on Moxley. But it was too late – Nakazawa was out of sight, no doubt sprinting to the locker room to change into his gear. Calling out that lunatic would not end well for anyone – he knew that his friend meant well. That he was trying to defend Kenny's honour, but he didn't need or want more blood on his hands – particularly the blood of people he cared about. It was only as he was searching, asking anyone he passed, that he realised how exhausted he was.

The medic was right; he was in no condition to fight this week. Perhaps he could talk. Perhaps he could somehow grab a microphone and warn Moxley what was coming for him. Maybe he could promise a painful future. But right now? He just wanted to stop, to lie down, to sleep. Just to get some rest. He had to stop, just for a minute, just to stretch out his shoulders. As he did, there he was. Up ahead, coming through a set of double doors from the outside. A terrible cold swept through the halls. No doubt he'd just come back from a smoke. He could almost see it rolling off his skin like steam. He looked wet – as if he'd walked in from a storm. His swagger was a stilted – the only sign that he'd been through hell.

'**Moxley!**'

The bastard looked up, saw him, registered he was there, smirked, raised his middle finger and started to walk away – toward the arena entrance.

'**Don't you fucking walk away from me!**'

Kenny made to follow, but a hand landed on his shoulder. It was firm, secure and when he rocked his shoulder to try and throw them off, it clung on tight. '**Let me go -,**'

'**I don't think that would be a good idea, would it Kenny?**'

Cody's voice was unmistakable, it was gentle but there was a slight warning, hidden in those careful tones. His old friend, rival and god only knew what they were now, moved a little closer and stood between Kenny and the slowly disappearing Mox, both hands on Kenny's shoulders. It was always hard to figure out what Cody was thinking, the catty smile that near always settled on his lips looked a little less convicted than usual. He was dressed in his usual suit but he looked exhausted.

'**Trust me buddy, just let it happen**,'

'**He'll destroy him,**' Kenny said bluntly. '**I don't want him to hurt anyone else**.'

'**And if you interfere, you'll upset your friend and you'll end up even more busted than you are now.'** Cody reasoned. He cast a quick look around, clearly seeking opportunity to take down the jackass who'd decided to kick him square in the balls.

'**That's sweet, Cody. It really is. But if MJF walks past right now, nothing would stop you clobbering him. So why stop me?**'

'**Because I don't matter but you do,**' Cody squeezed his shoulders gently. '**Kenny, you need to walk away**.'

'**You know it's funny,**' Kenny shrugged the other man's hands away, 'the more people keep telling me that, the more I want to walk straight up to that bastard and snap his neck. **You don't think I can take him. Do you?**'

Cody's supreme confidence was something to admire, but even he couldn't hide the truth. It was all there in his face.

'**Let me guess – the **_**old Kenny**_** could do it. The **_**old Kenny**_** could beat him.' He pushed Cody back, 'you want the old Kenny? Fine! Get me a fucking mop and I'll just sweep him away, shall I?**' he moved a few steps back, arms stretched out, pointing at Cody. '**Well, if that's what **_**everyone**_** wants, that's what they'll have. But you, the Bucks, everyone will be left to pick up the pieces. Because when I'm done with Moxley, there won't be enough left of him to so much as **_**cough**_.'

He turned his back on Cody then; something he rarely allowed himself to do. Even after all these years, even though they were business partners, he'd never quite trusted him. Maybe it was because of the wicked spark in his eyes. Maybe it was because he craved power and control. Maybe it was because, that one time, he'd tried to take everything that Kenny had ever loved away from him. Cody Rhodes was one hell of a businessman, but he could be one hell of a bastard as well.

He needed some time to cool off. Gather his shit. Maybe he'd watch the show, drag Nakazawa's carcass to the medic once he'd fallen back through the curtain. He needed to get away from them for now – to one of the backrooms, where he could watch the show unfold.

* * *

'_**Hey, so that one counts right?**_**'**that smug smile, he looked so fucking pleased with himself_, '__**I am a lot of things and say whatever you want about me, but I am NOT a liar. I told you exactly what was gonna happen at Full Gear – and I delivered as advertised – as promised. Kenny, oh man you'll never be the same again**_**.**_' _They clapped, they fucking clapped at that. Mox was loving every second, those eyes were boring holes in the screen, seeking Kenny out like heat missiles. He was rubbing his chest, that smile cutting into his cheek._ '__**Now Kenny**_**,**_' _he was starting to walk in circles now, arm stretched out like he was conducting,_ '__**Kenny you are one radical son of a bitch**__.'_

Well now he didn't expect that.

'_**And our personal differences notwithstanding, I do respect you.**__'_

What was happening?

'_**Because you had the balls to do something I don't think anybody else in AEW is gonna to do anymore. I don't think anybody in that dressing room is gonna have the balls to ever step in the ring with me. But can't nobody run can't nobody hide forever. I am on a pilgrimage to scorch the earth of AEW one broken neck at a time until I am the last man standing and I don't care how long it takes but hey! If there is anybody out there, anybody in AEW listening that wants to test themselves that wants to confront their own mortality, that wants to confront the only man who presents real danger in this ring, let me know**__.'_

He was close to the camera now, staring straight down the lens. Storms were gathering in those eyes. He was spitting fire and he was taking no prisoners and from where Kenny sat, something happened. That strange feeling returned, deep seated, right in the pit of his stomach. That weird stirring. He was alone, no one else in the room with him. His arms crossed, but as those eyes challenged the world, he felt his resolve slacken.

_Just a name on his list_. That's what Nick had told him. It seemed like Mox had already moved on. He didn't like that. Couldn't have that. Bastard. That face. He wanted to punch it. Ruin that smug smile that made his gut clench. It was nothing. Meant nothing. Nothing at all. This tightness? Just his muscles aching. There was no reason for the burning sensation retuning in his cheek. He unfolded his arms and touched it once more, dread filling his gut. No. He was just tired. This was nothing. He was feeling nothing. Nothing about those eyes. Just pure hatred. He was confused. Tired that was all.

'_**Anybody out there who's listening in AEW just say the word and I'll be happy to let you know exactly where you stand on the food chain. Just do me a favour, if you're gonna step in the ring with me, kiss your loved ones goodbye before you leave the house. Have an ambulance on speed dial and when its all over nobody ask me for any damn apologies**_**.**_'_

And with that, he left the ring like nothing had happened.

Like he hadn't just shaken the earth.

Like Kenny Omega hadn't just realised something very, very problematic indeed.


	5. Chapter 5: A Hurricane Kick To The Gut

**(We've had over 200 views! Thank you so much to everyone who has taken the time to stop by and read my little story. I really appreciate it :) I hope you all enjoy chapter 5! As always, if you like what you see, feel free to follow, leave a comment or drop me a PM. I love hearing from you guys, it really makes my day!)**

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Chapter 5: A Hurricane Kick To The Gut

It seemed that it wouldn't take long for someone to step up, step in and become Moxley's new plaything. That very night, who should decide that they were game for going toe to toe with the man who wanted nothing more than to knock every king down, one by one? The vicious sound of Moxley's name being spat into a microphone with all the venom of a dozen vipers was almost delightful. But it already signalled to Kenny that times were changing and despite the war and despite the threat and the fight, Nick had indeed been right all along. Moxley's own attack on the AEW roster, that vicious undermining of everyone's thirst for the fight had been a warning, but it seemed Kenny wasn't the only one who had the inability to listen.

Darby Allin – young, hungry, quick off his win over Avalon and that chair wielding bastard Shawn Spears – was now speeding toward his next collision. Wherever he went, pain followed, usually his own, but he was able to swallow it like some impending black hole. Each showdown with Moxley would be filled with extreme violence. There was no other way around it.

Kenny leaned back in his chair; no longer alone. Leva Bates, the blue haired babe of the librarian duo was a good performer, enthusiastic, taking on the stupid gimmick she'd been landed with and just rolling with it. She seemed thrilled with everything that happened, despite choking on loss after loss. She was sat just to his left, cross legged on her chair, glasses half way down his nose, quickly scribbling notes in a _Harry Potter_ notepad, no doubt trying to assess what could be done better next time after Avalon's match. She always _tried _to help. It never ended well.

'**Hey Kenny, you have a minute?**'

He blinked, '**Sure, Leva. What's up?**'

'**I'm thinking about maybe switching things up a bit,**' she bit the end of her pen thoughtfully, '**do you think people would be more receptive to us if Peter calmed down on the sshing? People don't seem to like it – though they are always so loud. Also, he seems so angry so often at the moment…insulting people. Maybe I should book him into a day spa? A yoga class perhaps?**'

He had to chuckle. Leva was a sweetheart and honestly couldn't see that the reason they were so unpopular was because the gimmick was awful and the audience knew it. Avalon seemed to hate every second of it, which was why he took it out on the crowd. Leva loved her books, lived the task at hand and had even become a qualified librarian to ensure she was as true to her role as possible. She was quiet, for the most part, but likeable. He had a lot of time for her.

'**Maybe he needs to just find a good book?**' he offered, '**I've seen how you are when you have your nose in one – the rest of the world goes away and you're soaked up for hours.**'

She smiled, it was small, but genuine, '**Yes…sometimes I wish I could just disappear into those worlds. What a pleasure it would be to become a warrior queen for a few days. Do you think Peter would be a knight in shining armour?**'

'**A crotchety old wizard maybe,**'

She giggled at that. With grace, she unfolded her legs, put her notepad to the side and came to sit on the chair directly next to him. '**So,**'

'**So?**'

'**How are you doing?**'

'**Do you want the truth or the censored version?**'

'**I promise, I won't 'ssh' you if you swear. I can see you have a lot on your mind. I'm a good listener.**' She offered.

'**I'm alright. Thank you though.**'

'**Kenny Omega, you are many things, but a good liar is not one of them**,' she turned in the seat and hugged her legs to her chest, peering at him through her glasses, over her knees. '**I expect that all you've had from the boys is to move on and let go but you're clearly struggling with that.**' She shrugged, '**I mean…if you don't want to talk, we could always play _Street Fighter_?**'

Kenny perked up a bit at the mention of his favourite franchise, '**You know what? That'd be nice.**'

'**You bring the games; I'll bring the snacks?**'

'**You're on. I won't go easy on you though,**'

'**Please – I'll hurricane kick you off the screen.**'

Kenny, for what felt like the first time in days, smiled. It was a proper smile, full grown and played on his lips with hefty amusement. She liked that and leaned in, kissing his cheek.

'**You'll be ok champ. See you at mine after the show?**'

'**Thanks Leva.**'

She bobbed her head and nimbly hopped off her chair, grabbing her notepad and skipping out of the room, '**I hope you like doritos!**' she shouted as the door closed behind her.

He stretched in his chair, eyes scrunched shut, arms stretched wide, toes toward the door. It felt like he was popping all his sockets, realigning, just like his spine had the morning after Full Gear. It was like releasing pressure. He sighed too, clearing his lungs. The medic had been right – a week off from it all, just relaxing, trying to enjoy himself a little bit and he could return on Wednesday refreshed, revamped and ready to go. Nakazawa was in the medical bay still, no doubt being assessed after Moxley bulldozed through him. His heart had been in the right place, but…sometimes heart just wasn't enough.

Hands pressed against knees and he was up on his feet and heading toward the exit. He'd best check on his friend. Suddenly the door opened. It's sharp swing and hard edge smacked him straight in the face. He stumbled backwards, knocking straight into the stand where the monitor sat. It hit the floor, screen cracking, cord tugging from the wall. Dazed, he blinked rapidly. His nose was screaming, but it didn't feel broken. He clutched it between his hands and blinked away watery eyes.

A smug smile, flanked by old, battle worn eyes stood in that doorway. In the hands of one was a chair – it only took seconds for him to figure out who it was.

'**Spears you fuck, what the hell are you doing?**'

'**Looking for Janela, that shit has jumped me for the last time,**' Spears said calmly. His voice was smooth with an unmistakable edge, like the sharp turn of a snake scale. The hand that held that chair twitched, '**I don't suppose you've seen him…have you Omega?**'

Kenny's glare was hard as he sniffed the pain away. Just behind Spears' shoulder he could see Tully Blanchard lurking. The sick old bastard had a suspicious spark in his eye that couldn't be trusted. It was his actions which had led to Janela coming after Spears the way he had. Kenny couldn't blame that shades obsessed madman for wanting revenge. He could remember when Joey had been found, hacking, coughing, blood on his lips where his tongue had been torn, his mouth and throat burned from the cigarette he'd been forced to swallow. It was something he'd never forget, no matter how hard he tried.

He'd faced Janela – he was a cocky shit for sure, but the match they'd had, despite being a painful prelude to what would come with Mox, had been enjoyable. He _liked_ him. He hadn't seen hide nor hair of him. But where was the fun in telling Spears that?

'**And what if I have?**'

'**I'd very much appreciate you telling me where he is. There's no need for us to be uncivil**.'

Spears' had strange eyes – glassy, like two marbles had been stuck in the sockets of his skull. They were pale, too pale to be real. His face was the same, unreal, almost as if he'd been drawn. He could have been handsome if it weren't for the poisonous spirit he housed. Kenny's gaze flashed down to that chair.

'**And…for arguments sake, I don't tell you where he is? What you going to do Spears? Assault me?**' Kenny smirked, '**if you can't take down someone like Joey, what makes you think you can take me on?**'

Spears cocked his head to the side, craning it round, snapping the cartilage. Both he and Tully moved into the room, the door swinging shut behind them with a hefty click. He watched, a little perturbed as the manager _locked_ the door. What on earth were they thinking? They'd assaulted one EVP within days of AEW beginning, did they honestly think that they could get away with doing it again? Cody had put Spears in his place weeks ago, but judging by the look in his eye, he hadn't learned his lesson.

'**Oh, I know I can, Kenny.**' That glint was suspiciously threatening, '**After all, you weren't cleared for tonight. Were you? The medic reckons you're too banged up to fight.**'

'**I could be without an arm and I'd could still whoop your ass Spears. Now get the hell out of here before I really embarrass you,**'

Spears' smile didn't drop a single millimetre. He took a step closer, that chair now in two hands.

'**I was going to take my frustrations out on Janela. But since you're here Kenny, I think you'll do instead,**'

That chair swung –

Kenny dodged, leaning back to avoid the swipe –

Another shot, this time aiming for the head –

Kenny moved back again, hitting into several chairs, he tumbled, but managed to roll out of the way of the next shot. He stumbled back to his feet, but the next shot hit, slamming into his injured shoulder. Pain exploded in his arm and for a split second his vision pooled. Kenny grasped a hold of the nearest chair and threw it toward his attacker, but Spears slithered aside like the snake he was. His eyes were trained on Kenny like he was ready to strike. Kenny moved slowly, one hand gripping his shoulder, his teeth gritted. He was an eye down, an arm down and running out of room. His back hit the wall.

'**No where to go Kenny…what are you going to do now?**'

Near the door, Tully's hard expression showed no emotion, no sympathy. His arms had been crossed until now, but from his pocket, he drew something that drew a hint of panic.

'**What the fuck you planning on doing with those?**'

'**We were planning on stringing Janela up by his toes and shaving off his ridiculous hair,**' Tully shrugged slowly, rolling around the handcuffs in his hands, '**but since you don't know where he is…I guess I'll get my trophy a different way.**'

'**Though Kong was the one with the hair fetish,**' Kenny growled.

'**I'd go for your balls, but you seemingly don't have any**.'

_Ouch_.

Spears took another swing, slamming the chair into the wall, missing Kenny's skull by inches. If he caught him, then that could be it. He had to get out. He needed a weapon – the closest thing to hand was a fruit bowl. He quickly gripped it and lobbed it as hard as he could toward Shawn. Grapes, bananas and apples flew everywhere, but the bowl didn't find its mark – blocked by the chair. _Shit_.

Spears' chair hit the floor and he threw himself forward and slammed his knee into Kenny's gut, doubling him over. Another fist struck the back of his head and a sudden arm round the throat dragged him down to his knees. He claws at Spears, teeth burying themselves into the skin of his arm. Spears' roared in rage and pain and released him – Kenny didn't waste time. He jerked his head back, slamming it straight into his attackers' jaw. Not waiting for Spears to recover, he jerked forward, grabbed the fallen chair, turned and swung. But Spears wasn't there – he collided with Kenny's gut shoulder first, throwing them both to the floor. Kenny's head smacked against the carpet and Spears scrambled over him, raining down punches. Kenny threw his arm over his head, trying to protect himself. The light above him disappeared as Tully and Spears loomed down, handcuffs ready to snap round his wrists -

'**Can we talk about this?**'

The door thudded.

Someone was trying to get in. The lock shuddered as the thumping continued.

'**Fuck off!**' Spears snarled. He started up from the floor, '**Tully keep him down,**'

There was a horrendous splintering noise. Spears backed down once more, retreating to his trusty chair. '**Tully get him up, hold him!**'

Kenny found himself forced back against the wall, Blanchard's arm around his throat, the edge of the chair dangerously close to his skull.

The door slammed open, busted at the lock, splinters of wood flying. For a moment no one appeared. Then –

'**Moxley,**' Spears snarled.

Proceeded by a cloud of smoke, he came through that doorframe with cigarette in one hand, a half dented fire extinguisher in the other. For a moment he almost didn't look like he noticed the others in the room, but then, with one final drag, he dropped the roll up to the carpet and ground it beneath his boot before turning on his heel to face the scene before him.

'**Omega,**'

'**Get the fuck out of here Moxley,**' Spears readied the chair, '**or I'll smash his skull in,**'

Moxley, didn't appear to care and shrugged. Instead he looked down at the extinguisher in his hand. '**Now I don't know about whatever you're all into, but that's my toy,**' he pointed at Kenny with a crooked finger, '**and he's mine to break. Not yours. So why don't you just give him to me and I'll leave you to play your fuck games. Or…and I prefer this one, just say no. Hurt him, and I'll tear you fucking limb from limb and spit in the stumps**.' He raised the extinguisher up onto his shoulder. '**Your choice Spears.**'

Shawn paused and then, with a garbled yell, he charged.

Moxley moved as if in slow motion, he simply changed his stance, turning side on to avoid the chair shot, nudged the extinguisher off his shoulder and swung. It smashed into Spears ribs with so much force that he crumpled to the ground in seconds, gasping for breath. The chair hit the floor. Moxley didn't leave the assault there. Several vicious kicks to the gut later, Moxley sniffed and stepped over Spears, casually leaving a dirty footprint on his thigh.

'**Move old man,**'

Blanchard wasn't stupid. He released Kenny's throat and dashed back to where Shawn was, helping his protégé to his feet.

Moxley stood over Kenny's coughing form and regarded him, before flipping the bird behind him to the other two men. Tully seemed to get the message and started to drag Shawn out the door, threats mumbled under his breath.

Kenny held his throat tenderly. His Adam's apple throbbed, his nose was busted again for sure and his ribs were screaming. He didn't need this. He didn't want to look up at the man who had come seemingly come to his rescue. Despite dropping his first, Moxley pulled another crumpled cigarette from his pocket along with an battered old silver lighter. He lit up, heavy smoke plumbing round his head. The silence lingered, Moxley getting more irritated by the second. He was moving, twitching, unable to stand still, now pacing, back and forth, scratching his head with the cigarette hand, trailing ash behind him. Eventually he jolted toward Kenny and pointed violently at him.

'**You need to learn when to shut your mouth and fucking quit.**'

'**They attacked me,**' Kenny's voice was a strained whisper, '**and I don't need your fucking advice.**'

'**You know what you need Omega? You need to stop thinking about yourself. You know why I'm here? Your blue haired friend, the skirt with the glasses, comes up to me, begging me to help _you_.**'

Leva? She must have come back…but seen Spears and Tully going in.

'**I was fine**,'

'**You were about to get your stupid head caved in.**' Mox snarled, '**All because you're _Kenny Omega_. No one could possibly be better than you. No one could possibly hurt you.**' He took another aggressive drag on the cigarette, exhaling to calm down. '**Well I hurt you Kenny. I _fucking hurt you_. Now you're angry. Now you're pissed off and you want to see the world burn because you just can't cope with not being king**.' Moxley crouched down in front of him, reaching his hand out, scraping the side of Kenny's face with a knuckle, '**Poor, poor Omega. Such a lost little shithead with no where to go. You keep running in circles you're going to keep getting knocked down and knocked out and always find yourself at my feet.**'

Kenny knocked his head away, '**Don't fucking touch me,**'

'**Why not?**' Moxley actually smirked at him, '**You've taken every opportunity to get close to me.**'

'**Screw you**,' Kenny pushed himself against the wall and forced himself to his feet, '**I don't need you. I don't want you. Stay the hell away from me or I swear to God -,**'

'**You'll what? Kill me?**' Mox licked his lips and bared his teeth, '**You'll eat me alive?**' He reached out and swiped the handcuffs from the floor where Tully had dropped them. Shoving them in his pocket, he stood, another drag on that cigarette and blew the smoke straight into Kenny's face. '**I look forward to it,**'

Those fucking eyes. Those fucking black pools of death and burning pyres. He was so close, his head tilted a little, glared fixed, mouth and lips curled. Mere inches away. He could have headbutted him there and then. He could have shoved past him. But he lingered. Lingered and caught in that death stare. He could see every single pore. He could smell the sweat on Mox's skin. He came closer, as if to bite him, Kenny was frozen in place –

'**Kenny?**' Leva!

The silence, the stillness broke and she rushed in, throwing her arms around his neck, '**are you alright? I saw Spears and I thought…I don't know what I thought.' **She shook her head and then glanced to Moxley,** 'thank you, for helping Mr Moxley. I really appreciate it.**'

Mox was already half way out the door, he merely grunted at her, but cast Kenny one last, all consuming look before disappearing. Kenny stared after him, a little open mouthed, a little confused. His stomach cramped. His gut clenched. His heart? It was thundering. The tension before the fight for sure. For sure…

'**Kenny?**'

Leva touched his face and he near leapt out of his skin.

'**Kenny are you alright?**'

'**Yeah…yeah I'm fine,**' he muttered, he returned her hug gently, enjoying the sensation, but unable to ignore the lingering smell, the lingering feeling that Jon Moxley was conjuring. He wasn't so sure what would make him happier – punching that smug mug in, or… '**Let's just go…alright? I need to just get away from this…just for a while**.'

Leva nodded slowly, '**Come on, I'll make sure you get back to the hotel. Peter's already called us a taxi.**'

Great. Just great.


	6. Chapter 6: Let's All Be Cannibals

**(We're almost at 300 views! Thank you so much everyone :D I hope that you enjoy this newest chapter. May not be suitable for reading at work (if any of you do so), but nevertheless, here's chapter 6! Once I've caught up with the current AEW timeline, these updates will slow down to one a week, but until then I'm going to try and do one every day (except weekends and Christmas). So, I hope you enjoy reading and I'd love to hear your thoughts!)**

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Chapter 6: Let's All Be Cannibals

_He felt the thickness of the storm; a heavy air as the clouds rolled across the iron sky, deepening the darkness to an absolute pitch. There was howling wind and there was a knot of tension building deep in the atmosphere as lightning waited to strike. He could feel every particle of it, the heat of the night would have been too much to bear, but the open window gave the gale somewhere to go. The rainfall hit glass and frame, it dampened the carpet and shook the walls. He could hear it, eyes clenched shut. The constant tap of each drop like a hammer against his skull. He needed the sleep, not the interruption. _

_The cool of that wind touched his exposed shoulders and neck, sending chills down his spine, causing every hair to stand on end. His eyes were laden with fatigue, kept closed despite the niggle inside to get up and close that window._

_Another sound – like a snapping of wood._

_He sat up, eyes open, peered straight toward the opening. Something, or something was silhouetted against the heart of the storm. He could make out sweat, soaked through clothes, bare arms and hands clinging to that frame._

'_**What the fuck -,**__' but the figure moved, landed on the floor with a heavy slam of combat boots. The crack of a neck and the roll of shoulders told him everything he needed to know. '__**Mox – get the fuck out**__.' _

_He made to point, made to leave the bed, ready to fight, but something held him there. Panicked he looked down – straps, thick leather straps snapped his body down to the mattress, arms bound to the headrest, ankles deep into the covers to the end of the bed. He struggled, shouted, tried to tear himself free – and the looming shadow of Moxley came closer, closer…_

_He could feel the restraints tightening with every step and the panic started to rise in his body like bile. He could barely breathe as the intruder stopped next to the bed. Lightning illuminated the outline of his body as he peeled off that soaked t-shirt. There was a hurricane rising in those wide, dark eyes. A hand ran across the jaw, the mouth, rubbing it as if frustrated, unsure what to do before a hand dropped to his waist, reached into a pocket, pulled out something. With a sharp click a blade flashed into the night. _

'_**Mox – stop! You crazy bastard don't do this!**__' _

_But any more protests were silenced by Moxley's free hand – smothering sound, any hope of rescue._

'_**Shh,**__' the edge of the knife kissed Kenny's forehead – any pressure and it would cut through, but Mox kept the touch light, trailing the cold steel along hair line and jaw. '__**You should have just kept your big mouth shut Omega. We were over,**__' – the knife nicked Kenny's chin, drawing a quickly shut out gasp. Mox's face was so close he could feel his hot breath. He could see the devil in that smirk. '__**We were done. You could have just walked away and never felt the pain again of what I could do to you. But you came crawling back…begging for more like a fucking addict**__.'_

_Kenny tried to bite at the hand that held him down, but Mox didn't let go. He moved, up onto Kenny's body, all of his weight pinning him to that bed, his complete prisoner. That blade played in Mox's hand before he reared back, straddling Kenny's waist. Finally, free to speak, Kenny bucked against his bonds._

'_**Mox stop**__!'_

_Moxley cocked his head to one side, that knife winking wickedly in the storm light. _

'_**But you don't want me to. Do you?**__'_

_Kenny stared at him; stunned and confused. _

_The knife flashed down –_

_A scream –_

_Pain beyond belief -_

_But was it pain?_

_The intensity of cut flesh and blood seemed too much for Mox – he slashed and slashed, tearing Kenny's torso to shreds. He moved back, sliding like a snake to lick that spilled blood and muscle, never once taking his eyes off the Omega man helpless on the bed. Kenny's face was pale, his eyes blank – seeing what was happening but sure what to feel. There was something blinding about this agony – blinkers that made him watch. He could feel that tongue scrap over the remains of one of his abdominal muscles. Feel as Mox moved lower and lower with that mouth, knife poised perilously over his groin._

'_**Please -,**__' he whispered._

_He wasn't sure what he was begging for. _

_Mox flashed him an evil grin and brought the knife down once again, tearing through cloth and thigh. He leaned in hungrily, starting to tear pieces of flesh away with his teeth. Devouring every inch of him. _

'_**Mox –,**__' it was barely more than a whisper now – '__**please**__,'_

_Moxley paused in his cannibalism, mouth bloody, body throbbing and moved back up Kenny's torso, closer to his face. '__**This is what you wanted**__.' _

_He leaned in – so close that he could feel the moisture of his own blood dripping down on him. The taste was electrifying, like he'd been struck by the very lightning which illuminated his mutilated body. '__**No**__,'_

'_**Then stop me**__,'_

'_**I can't**__,'_

'_**You can't**__?' Mox smirked, '__**Or won't?**__'_

_He glanced to where Kenny's arm lay bound and Kenny looked too – to find nothing. Nothing holding him down. No straps binding him to the bed. Nothing more than the other man's weight on top of him. He'd been fighting, fighting…fighting nothing._

_He weakly tried to snatch the knife from Mox's bloody hand. _

_And he just let him take it. _

_Mox reared back up, arms spread wide, exposing his torso, his chest, his muscle, his heart._

_Kenny cut him open with surgical precision, taking his time, snapping the ribs as he went, as he punched through to tear out the fat, black heart from inside Mox's craterous chest. It beat in his hand, bloody and raw and when Mox collapsed back onto the bed, unmoving, Kenny looked at the heart, watched it, felt every vibration and in quiet contemplation, took a bite._

* * *

Kenny jerked awake.

He was half splayed over the chair he'd fallen asleep in, one leg over the arm, body slouched against the back, arm hanging, half dead, fingers near touching the floor. His body felt hard, aching. His mouth was strained, wet where he'd drooled in his sleep. In his lap, a half-eaten bag of cheesy doritos, orange dust over his shirt. There were crumbs everywhere and in his other hand, barely hanging on, was the Playstation controller he'd been using to combat Leva.

The librarian herself was curled up on the end of her hotel bed, quiet like a cat, her head on Avalon's thigh (who'd insisted on coming too, clearly not liking the idea of Leva spending time alone in her hotel room with any man who wasn't him). The moustached man was sat bolt upright, staring down at her with a perplexed expression. He was breathing irregularly and slowly, not daring to move.

Kenny rubbed his eye, '**Peter? You alright man?**'

Avalon's eyes rounded on him, '**Can't…move, don't want to…wake her,**' he said as quietly as possible through gritted teeth.

Kenny tried to manoeuvre his stiffened body into a seated position. Everything felt strained. The chip packet tumbled to the floor, scattering the corn snacks everywhere. '**Shit**,'

The tv screen in front of them was still on, glaring, multicoloured light burning out at them. The title screen of _Street Fighter V _blinked at him and he blinked rapidly whilst feeling for his phone. It had fallen somewhere under his butt and as he struggled to reach for it, Avalon stared at him.

'**Kenny?**'

'**Yeah?**' distracted, he finally found his phone. It was 3 in the morning – no wonder he'd fallen asleep. Though he hadn't really felt like he was off the astral plane – the dream had felt real. He was sweating, he could feel it, his t-shirt damp. Outside, it did sound like there was rain. But he was here, in a chair, not tied to a bed with a dead wrestler in front of him. Of course, it was a dream. A brutal, disgusting one.

'**You…er…been having some weird dreams?**'

Kenny raised his eyebrows, '**Maybe…why?**'

Awkwardly, Avalon nodded downward.

Turned out his legs weren't the only things that were stiff.

'**Oh god,**' Kenny turned away, hands buried in his crotch, face burned. '**I…I'm just going to the bathroom.**'

The walk to Leva's restroom was a crooked one and when he finally alone, door firmly locked behind him, Kenny had no idea what to do with himself. Did he just rub out this mistaken erection or did he try and think it away? What had caused it?

That dream had been bloody, sadistic, cannibalistic. It had held no pleasure. There was nothing but –

Ok. Who was he trying to kid?

How long was he going to deny it?

Seriously?

There had been something to that dream, confrontation, power play, there had been seduction in the sadism and he hated to admit it but now, as he leaned against that door. It was Mox. It was all about Jon Moxley. He wanted that pain from him, he wanted him to be near him. It was just a final release; they'd built up so much between them. He could feel the tension on his tongue like the taste of metal and as he thought back to the dream, as he remembered the image of Mox coming through that window, wet from the storm, he knew what he wanted.

He wanted to rip him apart and consume him completely. But it wasn't with barbed wire and broken glass. He wanted to fuck him up in as many ways as his devious mind could manage. He wouldn't find that relief in an arena. He wouldn't find it in the ropes of a wrestling ring. He wanted Moxley beneath him – not just for the pin. He wanted to make him shout, he wanted to make him swear. He wanted to punch him in the face and knock him senseless. He wanted to leave his mark on every piece of his skin. He _wanted_ Moxley.

_Well…alright then_.

Resigned, Kenny's breath shook as he slid his hand into his shorts.

_Knock-knock_

'**Hey Kenny? You alright in there?**'

'**J-just fine Leva. Thank you,**' he managed. This would have to be fast. Hard was an understatement. It was like he'd been frozen solid. Warm hands and warm thoughts were key and he closed his eyes, trying to fold himself back into the dream. For a few sweet moments, he was left with the twisted fantasy his mind had conjured. He could feel Mox sliding over his body. He could feel the air sticking to their skin the world was too hot to bare. He could picture that knife, tracing patterns across his chest. He could see the terrible, destructive desire in Mox's face. He could feel his rough kiss, biting his shoulder. He could feel Mox's hardness pressing against his thigh, he could feel –

'**Only could you hurry? I'm sorry but I really need to pee,'**

'**O-ok Leva. I'll…do my…best.**'

'**Might be best to use the one in my room Leva,**'

'**I mean that's very kind Peter, but I'm sure he won't be much longer**,'

'**Well…**'

– the sting in his bruising touch. He felt fingertips digging into every muscle and bone. The kisses were agonising, leaving a bloody trail across his torso and to his hip. He could see it now, a last hungry look from Mox before his head dipped low, before he took Kenny into his mouth, before –

'**Kenny?**'

He grunted in response and seconds later, he had to bite his tongue as sweet release came. He could have sworn. He could have shouted in ecstasy, but he didn't have time. His heart was pounding and his cock felt like it had friction burn. He moved as quickly as he could, which wasn't particularly fast all, cleaning himself up. But for just one second, he caught sight of himself in the mirror. He looked like he'd been caught in a monsoon, hot, sticky, but there was something else. The thing that had been missing, that thing he'd been suppressing – the glint was back. There, in his eye. The fire he'd been denying. He quickly washed his hands and opened the bathroom door.

Poor Leva looked fit to burst but as she made to dash past him, she paused, one hand on the door frame, gaze a little wrinkled. '**Kenny? You…look different.**'

'**Do I?**' he asked and plopped himself next to Peter on the bed (who quickly and stiffly moved a little further away from him).

'**Yeah…lighter, somehow,**' but that was all she had the chance to say before she disappeared into the bathroom.

'**Huh,**'

'**Looks like you got rid of more than a hard on in there**,' Peter muttered. He couldn't quite hide his disgust. '**In **_**her**_** bathroom of all places. You're an animal Omega,**'

An animal? He liked that. Kenny chuckled and growled at Peter, using his fingers as fangs and pretended to attack him. Avalon squealed and darted out of range, hiding on the other side of the bed. Not giving up that easy, Kenny took after him. In despair, Avalon attempted to vault over the bed, catching his ankle and landing on the sheets with a soft _thump_. Kenny, bemused leapt and landed on top of him, grabbing him in a gentle headlock.

'**Get off!**' Avalon flailed in his grasp, his top knot coming askew, hair trailing everywhere.

The sound of flushing and a tap running announced Leva's oncoming return, but Kenny didn't let go. The door swung open and Leva, in jogging shorts and a vest emerged, cleaning her glasses on the hem of her top. When she put them back on, she stared for a second, then burst out laughing, smothering the sound with her hands so as not to wake the neighbours.

'**Kenny get off him this instant**,' she shooed at him as she managed to calm herself down. '**I mean it**,'

'**Well, if you mean it Leva**,' Kenny leaned in and kissed Peter's head and rolled off the side of the bed. Now free, Avalon immediately went into a huff and pouted, arms crossed and head turned away in distaste. Kenny ruffled his hair affectionately. '**Aw come on now Avalon…just a bit of fun buddy**,'

'**Nothing fun about **_**any**_** of this**,' he grumbled.

Leva, who had started to pick all the dorito crumbs out of the carpet, stood up. '**Listen, guys its been fun, but maybe you should head back to your rooms…it's obscenely early and I wanna try and get a couple of hours of uninterrupted zzs before heading home tomorrow. You mind?**'

'**Not at all,**' Kenny smiled and quickly gathered his Playstation and gear back into its case before hanging it over his shoulder, caught on his fingers. '**Guess I'll see you guys soon. Thanks for tonight it's been…freeing.**'

'**OH JUST GO**,' Avalon shouted and lobbed a cushion.

Kenny ducked underneath it and darted for the door, giving Leva a goodbye wink and a salute. He aimed his fingers at Avalon.

'**Bang!**' he whispered before closing the door behind him to avoid another flung cushion.


	7. Chapter 7: Steamrolling

**(Hi everyone! Sorry for the delay in uploading this, as you can imagine things are pretty hectic at the moment in the lead up to Christmas! I'll try and work on getting something up before the end of next week, but can't make any promises. Things should resume normality after New Years! Until then, I'd like to wish everyone a very happy holidays! I hope you get to spend it with people you love and that you all have a wonderful time. This story has received over 340 views which is insane. Thank you for all your support and I look forward to hearing your opinions on this chapter!)**

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Chapter 7: Steamrolling

10 missed calls. All from the same number. None of them lasting more than a couple of seconds. No voice mails. No indication of who it might be. He'd not noticed at Leva's, too tired and too quick off the mark to unburden himself. He was notoriously bad at checking his phone – the Bucks complained about it frequently. Among those missed called, were texts from Nick, another from Riho and…that's where his attention ended. Perhaps they were important, but the mystery caller had his intrigue.

Admittedly it several days after the fact and he was at the gym, ready to load up Spotify, plug in and prepare for leg day. He perched on the edge of the leg press stool, headphones round his neck, eyes narrowed as he scrolled through and noted all the times they'd called. Every day one call in the morning, one at night. 10.32am and 3.17pm. The times themselves didn't appear significant in anyway, but the diligence of the caller was a little perplexing, worrying even. They seemed determined to get through to him, but not keen enough to hang about waiting. He glanced at the time – 3.05pm. If he waited, maybe he'd be able to catch them? Somewhere behind him, Nakazawa, still sore, but mostly recovered from his assault at the hands of Jon Moxley, was lining up weights. Over in the corner he could see Jimmy Havoc, self-proclaimed 'King of the Goths' keeping himself to himself, tucked away, strength training. No doubt Kip Sabian and Penelope Ford would be somewhere near their roommate and Kenny was determined to stay out of their way. Kip was showing signs of being a smug bastard and he certainly didn't need another one of _those_ hounding him.

Dynamite was only two nights away.

He could make this one. He knew it. He was feeling better. It was amazing what a week off could do – he'd made sure to take it easy. Well. Easy for him. He'd indulged in a little self-care, chilling. Never far from his thoughts was the dream. It hadn't returned, but there had always been a lingering uneasiness in his thoughts. The confrontation with the truth had been a reckless one, but he knew that it was far better for his mental state to just accept it. Moxley though, seemed keen to avoid him now that he had something to say. Who knew what the other man was feeling or even thinking – Kenny highly doubted it aligned with his own desires, but if he didn't get it off his chest one way or another (admitting it or punching the pain and pleasure away) then it would curdle. He was retracing his steps, relearning how to just be himself again, tripping would only prolong disappointment of his friends.

Knowing that just staring at that phone wouldn't make time pass any quicker, he tucked it into his pocket and loaded up the weights on the press. He eased himself into the seat, feeling a twang in his shoulder as he did. He braced himself, and began to work away. Sets of 10.

Over in that corner, Havoc was now sat on the floor, cross legged, staring at himself in the mirror, his hood drawn up over his head. Kenny paused. It was kind of fascinating to watch him. For someone so well known for his brutality, he was quiet, reserved. He didn't like to draw attention to himself. Kind of reminded him of Mox, really. Whilst he had a mouth in the ring, outside, no one heard from him. No one ever knew where he was. He didn't really use social media. There was…radio silence on him until he chose to appear to exact his own brand of chaos. Was this how the violent ones existed? Building and burning that resentment inside? Was it a pyre laden with sticks and debris, a snap of flint on flint to spark and ignite it all?

'**You good Kenny?**' Michael suddenly appeared next to him, '**You need me to change the weight?**'

'**Er…yeah a little more, thanks,**'

Obediently, Nakazawa added another to the press. He glanced over to where Jimmy sat and frowned, 'Think he has friends?'

'**Seems to…just likes his own space I guess**,' Kenny muttered through gritted teeth as he started another set of ten.

'**Think Moxley has friends too?**'

'**What…makes you say…that?**' Kenny huffed as he finished the set, let his legs relax and flopped forward a little, elbows to knees.

'**Got a feeling is all,**' his friend shrugged, '**if you're not around kind people, how you supposed to know how to act when with people at all?**'

Deep.

Moxley had been through a ringer, he knew that. Hell, everyone did. Had Jimmy? Possibly. Maybe he needed to make the effort to know these people better –

His phone vibrated. Kenny near tore through his pocket grabbing for it.

There – that number.

He quickly hit answer.

'**Hello?**'

Silence.

'**You keep ringing me.**'

Still nothing – but they weren't hanging up.

'**Who are you?'** he wasn't sure, but he thought he could hear breathing in the background. '**Say something!**'

Michael's hand was on his shoulder now, whether it was to comfort him or tell him he was being too loud he couldn't tell. But everyone in the gym was now staring at him. He didn't care.

'**Say something dammit!**'

They hung up on him. They fucking hung up.

Kenny near threw his phone across the room, but Nakazawa was quick to react, grabbing his wrist in his thin fingers before he had the chance to build to launch.

'**Hey man, be cool**,'

'**I am cool,**' Kenny growled. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration and stared down at that phone scream with venom in his eyes and in his heart. Who the hell would want to bother him like this? Trying to get his attention but when they have it all they do is go quiet? What was this bizarre time bomb ticking in his hand? He looked at those missed calls again, scrolling through. He could feel it in his bones that he was watching a countdown of some sort. Someone was calling out to him, someone wanted his attention, someone, really wanted to piss him off.

Was it Mox? Screwing with his head?

It didn't seem in character – Mox was a bulldozer, steamrolling through everything and everyone at a thousand miles an hour. He wasn't the sort to concoct a plan to drive someone crazy, was he?

But who else could it be?

Who hated him?

Who would want to drive him crazy?

'**Kenny?**'

'**I'm fine, Nak, really. I'm ok**,'

'**You don't seem it.**'

'**Well, people are going out of their way to wind me up and I'm at the point now where I really don't appreciate it. I've been messed with too much.**'

His friend nodded sympathetically but, clearly still fearing the phone might be used as a projectile, slowly pried it out of Kenny's hand and tucked it away in his backpack. Safe and sound and out of flinging range. Kenny sighed deeply and held his head in his hands. Days ago, he'd found release, found the ability to breathe again, but now it just felt like something else was behind him, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder. Was he just having conversations with ghosts?

'**So, what will you do now that you're done with Mox?**' Nakazawa had picked up some dumbbells and was now bicep curling with a great amount of effort (despite the fact he wasn't lifting much weight). It was hilarious to look at and something occurred to Kenny as he watched his friend struggle.

'**Well…I guess…I'm not sure.**' He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, **'it's all been going wrong recently…since I wrestled Pac.'** He paused. That was it. Start again. Go back and face Pac and beat him and everything could change, he could suddenly be on the winning path that he needed to be. '**Hey Michael, I've got an idea. We need a camera….**'

It was so hard not to laugh at himself as he bench-pressed. It was so strange having a camera in his face. But he kept it straight, even after telling Nakazawa not to help him with the pitiful amount of weight he'd put onto the bar. Inside, he was cackling. But no, be the actor. Be the performer. As he sat up, he knew exactly what he wanted to say.

'**AEW fans,**_' _he paused and rubbed his mouth a little. He probably looked a mess. He'd scrapped his hair out of his face, grabbed a different shirt (one that wasn't covered in sweat) and taken a good look in the mirror. The black eye was less swollen, but there were clear signs he was still worse for wear. '**It's kinda rare that I get to sit in front of a camera and talk to each and every one of you**.' He glanced down a little, almost shy. Years of appearing on _Being the Elite_ was one thing, but he didn't do this whole…promo thing. '**I'm not really known as a promo guy**.' Wasn't that the truth. But what else was? '**Hey, god, I'm not really known as a hardcore guy, but you're seeing me do a lot of strange things, things very uncharacteristic of Kenny Omega.**_'_

In part, this was an apology. An apology to Matt and Nick, to Cody, to Michael, to all his friends who'd had to put up with his shit over the past few months. But there was more…

'**I've lost sight of who I am. I'm lost my marbles,**' it was a difficult pill to swallow. It was one thing admitting it in his head, but to everyone in the world? He almost expected Moxley to walk in through the door and smirk at the sight of him actually admitting to lunacy, **'…and I've tracked down the cause. All Out. Chicago. When I lost to you, Pac**.' He was actually feeling something here. Something…not rage. Passion? Anxiety? He couldn't describe it, but he was feeling jumpy, like he wanted to reach out and grab that camera. '**All it took, was one instant**_,_' he held a finger to the camera to illustrate, _'_**One instant where I let my guard down and you took everything away from me.**'

His friends. His sanity. All pushed aside. Made worse when…

'**Moxley cleaned the scraps…but it was you. And now, the powers that be,**_'_ he disliked that. He fell amongst the pigeons when it came to those in charge but he refused to get involved in booking. He was all about bringing in new talent. The booking…well. Cody and the Bucks took those privileges. They made the matches. But not this one. Nothing had been said, nothing had been set in stone. He had to hope this white lie would bring about the desired result, **'I don't know how they've decided it, maybe they picked your name out of a hat, I don't care. But they're giving me a chance at revenge**_._' Ah revenge. He'd take it too, with both hands, '**They're giving me a chance to press the restart button.**'

Wouldn't be him if he couldn't sneak in a video game reference, would it? But it was flowing so easily, so naturally that he knew that finally getting this all out was doing him some good.

'**My path for redemption starts next week – and unfortunately Pac, it's going to be at your expense. So tune in. It's going to be a match you don't want to miss. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll bid you adieu. Goodbye, and good bench**_,_' he leaned back, and pointed at Nakazawa, '**Now, do it, double up.'**

Nak played his roll perfectly, questioning it as if Kenny were already trying to lift all the weight in the world. Kenny nodded. Yep he was sure. He looked at that camera with all the confidence in the world. Still, somehow holding it together. He heard the first, meagre weight slip on and had an idea.

'**Nope, just the one side,**'

Nak nearly cracked then. '**One side?**_'_

'**Yep. One side.**'

Obediently, he put the other weight down and Kenny, settling back on the bench, could see his friend's face trying desperately not to smirk. He reached up to take the bar and began to bench press, lopsided. He hoped that Cody and Bucks would approve when this recording was handed over. He hoped they'd just put the match on the card without questions. If that aired on Wednesday, it gave him one more week to recover. To make sure he was ready.

Pac better have been listening – and if he had, there was no doubt at all in Kenny's mind, that he'd just pissed off _The Bastard_.


End file.
